Little Schools in the Parkland

by Washburn LairdIncidents In My Teaching Career“The Actor”

I don’t know about the modern teacher, but I did feel that in my day most High School teachers taught or presented their lessons to accommodate the upper 25% in the learning strata, and the rest, such as the medium intelligent group, or the lower intelligence stream, could sink or swim as the case might be. I was guilty of just that sort of thing, and I don’t feel very proud of it.

But early in my career I had my mind changed in a rather remarkable way. As an option subject I was given the Drama to teach in Grade 10, 11 and 12 along with my Social Studies. I had had some two or three university drama courses, but these were simply options. When offered the drama I protested at first. Later I came to like the classes and even formed the first Drama Club in the Wainwright High School.

It was early 1963 and I had been teaching about 5 years in the High School. I was still wet behind the ears, compared to others in the system, but I was struggling mightily to do a good job.

The story I am about to relate happened during the years when Pearson was Prime Minister. As I said, I had been given the Drama option against my better judgement. I went to the Principal to protest. I wanted a crack at Literature 21 (which I later got) but his reply was terse and to the point. “Mr. Laird,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “you may not have a lot of Drama courses, but you are normally such a clown, that I have no doubt you will do a superb job in this department!” Ah well, so be it. I was the new drama teacher.

The next day I met my class of 35 students – all shapes and sizes. Some were quiet – some loud – some were smart alecs who didn’t fit into any other class, and who no other teacher wanted. This was the class I had to do something with. I hit on a novel idea to keep them quiet. I introduced some pantomimes. The idea was novel and caught on. The idea was that no-one spoke a word during the class period. All requests came by pantomime.

It looked really funny for someone coming into the room, to see 35 students, making signs, expressions and gestures. I do admit it was the quietest class in the school – for a time at least.

Then came play production time.

Now there were three groups in this menagerie – the really bright students who really loved acting on stage – the drones who were there to get credits – and those who were there for nothing more or less than to create a disturbance. The pantomime had worked, but now came the big test.

I cast a play called “LITTLE NELL,” complete with old mom and dad, the heroine, the hero and the villain. Mom and Dad I chose with care from the persons who wanted the credits. The hero and the heroine I chose from the brightest and most interested of the students.

But I had trouble finding a villain. I needed a person who was forward, didn’t care – sort of “laid back.” The perfect person was the class clown and troublemaker – six feet of absolute meanness. He hated drama. He admitted it. He told me he was just there because no-one else wanted him – and this was, oh, so true.

After much soul searching, inward muttering and downright prayer, I gave him the part. I can tell you right now that the class rehearsals were agony. He got a hard time from the backstage crew, and he delighted giving them one too. I had a hard time keeping his concentration on the script. I swear I aged ten years in just one small month.

“Laird,” I thought to myself, “if you get yourself out of this mess, you will be a genius.”

Dress rehearsal day came, and it was in agony that I sat out front to hear the results of my efforts for the past month. Mom and Dad were great – expression – the whole bit. I was delighted. Little Nell cried beautifully, and Hector Skyscraper, the her, did his rescue routine with magnificence. But…alas…the villain – 6 feet of clumsiness, waving in and out like a flag, tripping over the stage furniture, and muffing his lines with gusto. It was a tragedy to see his mannerisms, and how he repeatedly threw off, or stole lines not his own. Thank God the principal did not appear, or it would have been curtains for the entire production.

Next day was the big evening performance. Most of the parents would be in attendance, as well as half of Wainwright. My ulcer, about 4 p.m., was dancing the foxtrot. How I wanted this night to go away quickly!

Having coffee with the other High School teachers in the Wainwright Hotel Café, I made the remark: “Let me get a good look at your facial features for tomorrow you won’t see me. I’ll be long gone!“

I ate an early supper, and I really believed it would be the “LAST SUPPER,” and then I went to the school for the performance. There were musical numbers, one comedy presented by the Drama Club, and following a brief intermission, the melodrama. Not wanting to sit down in the audience I stood in the balcony to watch the melodrama. The principal appeared, and said: “This is your Drama Night. You should be very proud.” I looked at him in agony and choked out the words, “Yes, I am.” The principal looked at the program – and the cast of characters for the play. “Ye Gods!! – don’t tell me you cast HIM as the villain. He has never hit a classroom that he hasn’t caused trouble in. I tell you he will ruin the play!”

I looked the principal in the eye, and said, in a hushed whisper. “That is my surprise for the evening-the boy who spends 90% time in your office.” At that point the curtain rose. Mom and Dad came out, and gave their opening soliloquies in true artistic fashion. Out came little NELL with shy, demure bearing tripping around the stage. Out came the Back Stage worker with signs that read “CLAP” and “APPLAUD.” The audience responded enthusiastically. The came the signs “HISS” and “BOO” and to

this response from the audience, the villain made his appearance. What a transformation – 6 feet of pure black, from tuxedo to cape. But what was absolutely amazing to me was the actions of the boy.

What had happened to the clumsy oaf that had just yesterday wrecked the dress rehearsal? The villain advanced to the front of the stage, swished his cape around his shoulders, and shook his stick at the audience each time they booed or hissed. I was astounded. I hadn’t even told him to do this but there he was doing it, big as life and twice as mean.

And the lines, the sneers, the maniacal laughter – absolutely amazing! He loved every minute of his part. He knocked the hero to the floor before being subdued himself. And the final sneaking off the stage hollering: “Curses, foiled again.” – would make Richard Burton envious. The last trump was when the audience stood to a person, and gave him a standing ovation.

The principal looked at me: I looked at the principal. “How did you accomplish that?” he said with a great degree of incredulity – as if he couldn’t believe this had just happened.

I looked at the Principal with the same degree of surprise. But quickly recovering my composure, I replied with simple dignity, “That, my friend, is the mark of a good teacher. Every student has some talent. You have just seen the talent of the worst clown of the school!” I fully believed that a miracle had occurred, and that I would wake up and find this whole thing just a dream.

But I came away that night quite convinced that every student, above average, average, or below average, has a right to compete and win in this system of ours.

I found out quite by accident some days later, what had made the villain so believable and so good. Apparently he was half tanked, and no-one knew it. All his inhibitions had been suppressed by demon rum. He had gotten into his Dad’s rum bottle after school. That was the thing that had produced a change.

I never forgot that one incident in my Drama teaching, but it did teach me that there was good in everyone – and you don’t turn your back on the underachiever, and gear your thinking to the upper 25%. You see, that boy really did want to reach out and be helped. In order to be good in drama, and win my approval he went to extreme measures. Not that I approved of those extreme measures he took but it was the idea that though he was a “bad egg” in school, there was part of him that wanted to succeed, and he tried every available means to do it, rightly or wrongly. I complimented him sincerely the next day, and pretended not to see the smirks on the faces of his peer group who know how he did it.

The Actor
By Washburn Laird

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